


what happens in the bedroom

by shipwreck



Series: all in [2]
Category: Spies In Disguise (2019)
Genre: Barebacking, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Trans Male Character, trans!walter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22165726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreck/pseuds/shipwreck
Summary: Walter kinda figured Lance would drop him off then head back to his apartment like they do every other time, but there’s a pause that he chooses to believe is purposeful.
Relationships: Walter Beckett/Lance Sterling
Series: all in [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595455
Comments: 14
Kudos: 211





	what happens in the bedroom

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Very brief touch on body dysphoria, but nothing major. Feel free to message me if you need more detail.
> 
> Command + F: "what happens in the bedroom" to skip to the porn.

Normally after a mission, the both of them are full of adrenaline, buzzing about who had the coolest moves (Walter) and who cracked the coolest lines (also Walter, no matter what Lance says), but it’s been a longone. A real long one — like, a _Walter hasn’t seen his bed in two weeks_ long one. 

Actually Walter hasn’t seen anybed in two weeks. Being horizontal sounds so good right now.

When the car parks outside his house, Lance doesn’t say anything — doesn’t ask him what he’s waiting for (a kiss on the cheek) or tell him he did good job (not that Walter doesn’t already know). Walter kinda figured Lance would drop him off then head back to his apartment like they do every other time, but there’s a pause that he chooses to believe is purposeful.

So he says: “Hey, you wanna come in?” 

Lance glances away from the mirror, where he’d been not-at-all-subtly checking himself out. “I do _not_ want to watch season two of your show again. I can _still _hear the theme song when I close my eyes.”

“No, — I mean, that’s pretty cool, but I meant to eat.” Walter puts on his best smile. When that doesn’t work, he changes track, putting on his best smoulder. “If you wanted, you could even… stay the night.”

Lance stares. “What’s wrong with your face? Why’s it doing that?”

“I’m trying to be seductive.” Walter tries to wiggle his eyebrows but doesn’t have as much control over the left eyebrow as he does the right. “Is it working?”

“Uhhh no.” Lance rubs the bridge of his nose, which either means he’s exasperated or blown away by Walter’s prowess. “I’ll come in if you stop making that face.”

“Deal!”

Walter’s in such a rush to get out of the car he spills the contents of his bag all over the road, and when he gets to the front door he can’t find his key — which apparently is not an issue, because Lance pulls his own keys out of his pocket, locks the car, then uses another key on the same keyring to unlock Walter’s front door, strolling in like he owns the place. 

If it were anyone else, Walter would wonder how and when he got a copy of the key. It’s Lance Sterling though, so instead, Walter’s wondering why he had a copy made at all. 

(Is he planning on coming here often? Should Walter empty a drawer in his dresser? He already has, like, five of Lance’s back-up suits, but maybe he could get Lance his own cup in the bathroom for his toothbrush. Does this make them roommates then? Best friends? Are they a power couple now?)

“Okay, so what you servin’? I am not drinking that meal replacement stuff again.” Lance pulls off his blazer, draping it over the kitchen chair. “Please tell me you got food that involves chewing.”

“Of course, I do. I’ve got loads of stuff.” Walter opens the fridge, only to be promptly, _horrifically_, reminded he’d been in the middle of an experiment when the mission call came in. He slams the door shut, spinning around.

Lance stares at him. “Walter, did I just see a giant worm in your refrigerator?” 

“Technically, it’s a caterpillar.”

“It had spikes.”

“Perfectly normal for the _citheronia regalis _species.”

“It had horns.”

“Fact: _citheronia regalis_ are sometimes known as ‘hickory horn devils’.”

“And the two heads?”

“Okay, that part’s my bad.”

Lance looks at Walter, and Walter looks back. A thump from the inside from the fridge has Lance raising an eyebrow. 

Walter coughs, leaning back against the fridge, casually. “So… can I get you a drink?” 

The fridge begins emitting a low pitch scream. Orange goo drips out of the door, oozing its way across the tiles. 

“Yeah, so, I’m gonna bounce,” Lance says, turning on his heel. “It’s been real.” He pauses at the door, nodding to the side. “sup Lovey. How you doin’, girl?”

“No, wait! We can call pizza!”

Lance sighs. “Walter, it’s the middle of the night. Who on earth is gonna bring us pizza at this hour?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Walter grins, bringing up his watch. “I call it, _Flew-ber Eats _and it’s gonna change the world.”

The orange goo on the floor chooses that moment to spontaneously light on fire. Walter’s too busy ordering pizza to put it out so he leaves Lance to dig around for the fire extinguisher. 

“Should’ve stayed in the car, Lance,” he mutters. “Should’ve stayed in the car and gone home_._”

“Do you want cheese crust?” Walter calls.

“Damn it, Walter, of course, I want cheese crust.”

…

Walter must fall asleep in the middle of dinner because he wakes in his own bed, still dressed, the faint taste of gluten-free pizza in his mouth, and — he licks his teeth — no retainer on. It’s still dark out, so maybe he wasn’t asleep for long, but Lance would’ve left after putting him in bed. _Ugh_. So much for post-mission post-dinner sex.

Walter yawns, heading to the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. He’s in the middle of flossing when he realises he can hear the low hum of the TV playing downstairs. 

On Walter’s beat-up couch, Lance Sterling is on his back, fast asleep, in what must be an incredible amount of discomfort. His ridiculous legs don’t fit on the couch, so they’re dangling off the end, socks still on. He’s still in his shirt, albeit unbuttoned at the neck, and his pants are on, belt and all. But, he’s got Lovey nestled on his chest, cradled in his hands. They look so sweet together Walter could cry.

He _could_, but taking a photo would be a much better use of his time.

“Don’t you dare,” Lance says, without opening his eyes.

_Click_.

“Too late,” Walter says, just as Lance blinks up at him. “I’m gonna send it to Marcy on her birthday.”

“What’s the point of putting you to bed if you’re just gonna get out of it a minute later?” Lance yawns, stretching his arms over his head. The movement disturbs Lovey, who ruffles her feathers, readjusting herself. 

“I’m not gonna leave you down here to sleep on the couch,” Walter says. “What kind of host would I be?”

“You wanted a snuggle, din’ you?”

“I was going to suggest spooning, but snuggling works too.”

Lance gets to his feet, setting Lovey down on the coffee table. “Don’t think there’s room for both of us on that bed though.” He plonks a heavy hand down on Walter’s head, tugging at his hair. A jolt of warmth shoots into Walter’s stomach. “We gotta talk about how many stuffed toys are appropriate for an adult your age.”

“We can talk about it in bed,” Walter beams. “It’ll be our… pillow talk.”

“That is not what pillow talk means.”

…

In all his fantasies of waking up next to Lance Sterling, it’d always be Walter spooning Lance. Walter would have his arms around Lance’s chest, one leg thrown over his hips; then he’d get to smooch a kiss between his shoulder blades by way of good morning. 

Instead, Walter wakes to a very muscular arm across his chest, a nose pressed to the back of his neck, and a significant hardness snuggled against his butt. 

There was no sex last night, or, to Walter’s dismay, pillow talk. The both of them fell asleep before their heads hit their respective pillows. Although, Lance did borrow a toothbrush beforehand, and put it in Walter’s cup afterwards (_ahh!_). He also borrowed a pair of Walter’s loosest sweatpants (they’re Hello Kitty and even though they’re too-long on Walter, they show off Lance’s very nice ankles). 

But, he must not be used to sleeping with pants on, because Walter can see them on the floor from here. Lance must have kicked them off in the middle of the night. Which means, once again, Walter is fully dressed while Lance is completely naked. 

It’s the submarine all over again.

“Do you _have _to giggle so loudly?” Lance grumbles. His breath is hot against Walter’s neck. “It’s too early for your bad jokes.”

“It’s almost three in the afternoon, and I’m pretty sure you snored yourself awake.”

“Lance Sterling does _not_ snore.”

“You do, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” Walter hugs Lance’s arm closer, burrowing backwards into him. “What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.”

Lance stiffens quite suddenly. “Is my morning wood pressed against your pancake butt?”

“Yep.” Walter twists his head. “Please let me make a joke about breakfast.”

Lance props his head up on one arm, yawning loudly as he slips the other arm under Walter’s pyjama shirt, splaying his hand flat in the middle of Walter’s sternum. “Not if it involves sausages and eggs.”

“It — Wait, what would the eggs be in this scenario?” 

“You’re the scientist,” Lance says, dragging a thumb down one of Walter’s scars, making him shiver, curl up. “You figure it out.”

Lips press gently against the back of his neck — the only warning Walter gets before Lance starts nipping. Walter shudders at a particularly hard bite. It’s a little too early on in the game to let Lance get one up on him. Walter turns over in bed, pushing Lance’s shoulder down so he’s flat on his back, climbing on top and sitting _just so_. 

Other than a grunt, Lance doesn’t respond, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _That’s your move? White boy, please._

“We should go on a date,” Walter grins.

“Say what?” Lance blinks.

“A date,” Walter repeats, tracing the lines of Lance’s abs with his fingers. “We could watch a movie, go to the beach. Ooh! We could go for brunch!”

“You can’t be serious.”

Walter pushes his hands up to Lance’s chest, tugging idly at the curls there. “There’s this really cool place I’ve been wanting to try where they serve your food on books instead of plates.”

“Okay, Walter, please don’t take offense when I say: I would genuinely rather eat the worm in your fridge.” 

Walter smiles, and takes the opportunity to flick a nipple. Lance hisses, his hips jerking up, just as Walter grinds down. Hands grab at his thighs, but Walter doesn’t move again, happily trailing his fingers across Lance’s chest.

“I’m just sayin’, it might be fun for us to hang out, y’know, outside of work.”

It’s fascinating how frustrated Lance looks — his jaw set, a furrow between his thick eyebrows. “Kid, what do you think we’re doing right now?”

“While this is fun.” Walter rolls his hips. The friction is good — but it’s obviously even better for Lance, who’s breathing very heavily through his nose. “I don’t think this qualifies as a date.” Walter plants both his palms on Lance’s chest, rubbing himself firmly against Lance’s shaft, until he can feel wetness soaking through the fabric.

“Are you really using sex to blackmail me into a date?”

“Technically, I’m _bribing _you into a date. Blackmail would imply I have compromising information on you, which I don’t. Unless you count the snoring.” Walter thumbs roughly at Lance’s nipple. He responds so nicely to it, his hips lifting off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. “Also, would you call this sex? I thought we were just ‘hanging out’.”

Lance’s eyes flash. “Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” 

Walter laughs, even as Lance surges up, pulling him onto the bed. He really didn’t think that would _work _but life’s all about trial and error. 

Lance tugs Walter’s pyjama bottoms down, grumbling until Walter lifts his hips to help. But once Lance has thrown them on the floor, he then proceeds to climb off the end of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Walter leans up on his elbows, resisting the urge to squeeze his thighs together, pull the blanket over himself. 

Lance’s giant hands each grab an ankle and tug Walter down the bed, until his legs are hanging over the edge. He kneels between them, and Walter’s thighs do try to squeeze together then, on their own accord, except Lance’s head is there, face inches from Walter’s genitals.

“Um, Lance, you really don’t have to — ” His words catch in his throat when teeth sink into his inner thigh, mouth sucking hard enough Walter’s sure he’s drawn blood. “_Ow_.”

Lance licks at the spot, tongue warm and wet and soft. Just as Walter’s relaxing, fingers spread him open, the same tongue coming to lick a fat stripe from his hole up. He makes the mistake of looking down, seeing Lance’s closely-shaven head between his thighs, mouth latched onto him, eyes closed like he’s concentrating —or (_god_) like he’s in bliss.

Walter brings his arms over his head, his face burning. He’s so turned on — he can feel how wet he is, his hole drenched against the stubble on Lance’s chin. 

Lance makes an _mmm _sound that vibrates against him, before laving his tongue all over Walter’s clit. He covers the area with an open mouth, sucking wetly, tongue flicking from side to side and making Walter whine and squirm. This is going to be over embarrassingly fast.

When he presses two fingers against Walter’s entrance, not pushing in, just resting, Walter’s brain takes a backseat to his desperation, hands coming to Lances head to encourage him to keep going. Not that he needs it; Lance licks at him like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do, like it’s all he ever wants to do. 

It’s the knowledge that Lance Sterling is hungrily eating him out, more than the actual act, that has Walter’s orgasm rushing at him, staggering and unstoppable. 

His voice is squeaky and breathless when he cries out, but he doesn’t care, his whole body undulating, trying to ride the wave. Lance keeps licking him, tongue wriggling fast, two fingers slipping in for him to clamp down on.

“You gonna gimme another?” 

Walter looks down just in time to see Lance wiping his mouth on his wrist. His clit throbs and he shakes his head against the mattress. “Overkill.” 

“We got to four last time.” Lance thrusts his fingers in and out, encouraging a whine from the back of Walter’s throat. “C’mon, Walter_, I believe in you_.”

Walter chokes on his laugh. Lance uses his other hand to rub slick circles around his clit, the pressure is so much firmer and faster than his tongue, the second orgasm hits Walter almost immediately.

When Lance tries for another, Walter kicks him in the face, voice shaky when he proclaims, “Nope. No more. You’re done.”

Lance grabs his foot, kissing his ankle before climbing up his body to kiss his cheek. Walter turns his face to meet his mouth, only to have Lance pull away.

“I am _not _kissing you until you’ve brushed your teeth.”

Walter stares. He’s got to be kidding. He’s got — He’s got Walter’s slick all over his chin. 

“You could use that mouth to argue with me, or you could go wash it out so we can swap spit.”

Walter would argue, just on principle, but there must be too much dopamine in his system, because he gets up on jelly legs, staggering to the bathroom.

“Don’t forget the retainer!”

“I can’t brush my teeth with it in!”

After he brushes, he rinses with mouthwash for good measure, and fills half a cup of it for Lance, just in case. Splashing his face with water, he catches sight of himself the mirror; his cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. There’s an angry mark on his neck, above the collar of his pyjama shirt, where Lance bit too hard. There must be another one on his thigh, he knows, but he doesn’t let his eyes stray that far.

He stops still in the bedroom doorway, his heart squeezing at the sight of Lance, sitting up in Walter’s bed, in his pink sheets, naked and hard.

Walter’s mouth was wet a second ago, but it’s suddenly noticeably dry. “I, uh, brought you this.” 

Lance gargles and spits back into the cup, and it should be gross, like watching someone at the dentist, but of course Lance finds a way to make that sexy, wiping his mouth on his wrist before stretching across the bed to put the cup down on the bedside table.

_I wanna blow him, _Walter thinks, furiously. 

“Sweet.”

Walter stares. “What?”

“The mouthwash,” Lance says. “Bit sweet.”

“Oh, I made it myself! It’s supposed to taste like the rainbow but I couldn’t get the grape quite right, so it’s just all the other colours.”

Lance sighs, leaning back. Somewhere on the bed, a soft toy lets out a faint honk. “You wanna list the flavours or you wanna finish what you started?”

Walter opens his mouth. Hesitates.

“Fine,” Lance says. “hurry up.”

“So there’s strawberry, orange, lime — obviously —, and blueberry, but I wasn’t sure whether yellow should be lemon, banana, or pineapple. Then I thought, _jackfruit_! Why does everyone forget about jackfruit? It’s cultivated in loads of countries all over the world, and available year-round, fresh or canned.”

Lance grabs him by the waist, tugging him onto the mattress. “You done?”

“Did you know jackfruit-based resin is used as a filling for teeth in several parts of the world?” Walter says, head thumping against the bed. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“It’s _something_ all right,” Lance says, climbing on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, leaning down to press their mouths together. 

_Sweet_, Walter thinks. He brushes his fingers through Lance’s short fuzzy hair, his stomach jolting when Lance bites down on his bottom lip. _And there’s the spice._

“You gonna let me drive this time?” Lance murmurs against his mouth.

Walter blinks. Lance pulls back enough to watch him. He hadn’t thought about it, but it’s only fair they should take turns. 

Then Lance tugs at his collar. “Can I take this off?”

Walter stiffens, anxiety lurching in his throat. He looks around for the light switch, only sunlight’s already pouring into the room, illuminating everything through the curtains. Every other time he’s done this there were clothes on or lights off. 

Lance moves his hand to Walter’s, bringing it to his chest, pressing his palm flat against his pec.

“You feel that?” Lance’s heart is thumping loud, erratic but firm. Fast. Even on the field, his heart rate hardly ever spikes. “That’s all you.”

Oh. 

Walter stares at their hands on Lance’s chest, trying to steady his breathing through the ache in his own. When he looks up at Lance, his eyes are blown, black swallowing the brown, leaving the thinnest ring. 

“We can leave it on if you like, but…” Lance pauses, gaze searching for something on Walter’s face. 

He mustn’t find it, because he doesn’t finish. Walter’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“Nothin’, just.” Lance clears his throat, shrugging one shoulder. “I wanna see you too, y’know?”

This would be a very very bad time to cry, but Walter can feel the warmth and pressure behind his eyes, blinking rapidly in the hopes of dispelling it. Walter might feel exposed, but it’s obvious Lance feels just as vulnerable.

_You like me_, he wants to tease. _You like me so much_. 

Something on his face must give it away, because Lance rolls his eyes at him. “Oh, don’t you start.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I’ve never met anyone with a louder face.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It means what it means. You got a loud face.”

“You _like_ my face.”

“S’alright,” Lance says.

Pleased, Walter traces his fingers along the curve of Lance’s mouth. _I’m so in love with you_. The thought should probably scare him, at least a little, but Lance has a strange way of making Walter feel brave.

Lance helps him undo a couple of buttons, pull the top over his head. Walter lays back down, eyes set on the ceiling. There’s a single pigeon footprint there which he doesn’t remember ever seeing before. 

When Lance touches both scars with his fingers, Walter tenses. “They hurt?”

“Nah, just…” Walter doesn’t know how to explain, that no one’s ever seen them before and he didn’t think anyone would ever want to. Lance is the first person to see them and touch them, and it’s… “It’s just weird.”

“I’m Team Weird, kid. Remember?” Before Walter can reply, a tongue is sliding up his left scar, and hands are pulling his thighs apart. Lance bites at his chest, then laves it with his tongue. It’s unexpected — and Walter doesn’t get a chance to process it, before Lance is moving up his body, pressing a kiss to his mouth and pushing into him at the same time. Walter whines into his mouth, hands coming up to his chest. Lance pauses, only partially in. 

“You okay?” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. 

“It’s fine.” It’s good. It is, but it’s _a lot_. “Just — go slow.”

Lance slides deeper, bit at a time, watching Walter as he does. Walter focuses on breathing through it; his nerves are sparking, each one too raw for him to handle individually, let alone all together. When Lance is all the way in, he stops, the both of them just staring at each other, breathing.

“Tell me when I can go.”

Walter takes a deep breath, tells his body to relax. They’ve done this before. It’s just like the submarine.

“Okay.”

It’s nothing like the submarine. Lance isn’t rough, but his strokes are confident, purposeful. He’s so much closer than he was the last time, their bare chests pressed together, their groins meeting with every thrust. With Lance on top of him, inside him, everywhere, setting the pace, setting the angle, it’s overwhelming. There’s so much friction, and Walter’s already sensitive from coming — it’s too hot and too tight and it feels too good, at this rate he’s going to —

“_Lance_,” he gasps. Amongst everything, he hadn’t realised the tightness was building but Lance must have, because he snakes a hand down between them to rub at Walter’s clit, and coupled with the thrusts it’s _too much too much._

“Don’t, I’m — ” It’s too late. He’s coming, crying out. His thighs snap together against Lance’s hips, fingers digging into his shoulders. His whole body shakes with it, but Lance keeps rubbing circles, until it’s bordering on painful. Walter can’t speak, can’t manage anything other than trying to gasp in air. He digs his fingers into Lance’s shoulder as hard as he can, until Lance stops, pulling out completely.

_That’s not what I meant. _Panting heavily, Walter lifts a trembling hand to Lance’s cheek, too breathless to tell him he can keep going. Lance figures it out, or can’t help it, because he pulls back, starts stroking himself, hand moving faster until it’s a blur. 

“Walter.” His voice is hoarse, breathless. “Can I?”

Walter’s brain is completely liquid, so it takes him a moment to comprehend what Lance is asking, and when he does, arousal pulsates through him and he shudders. Lance flinches, like it’s too much, like _looking at Walter_ is too much, and that’s all the warning there is before he’s coming, painting Walter’s abdomen in warmth.

Walter has had Lance literally come inside him, so he doesn’t understand how this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. His clit is throbbing with little aftershocks that he can’t handle, hole fluttering around nothing. 

Lance, chest heaving, looks down at the mess he’s made all over Walter’s stomach. Oh.

“Don’t tell me those are the eggs,” Walter pants.

“What?”

“Before, with the joke, about the… forget it. Not important.”

Lance collapses onto the bed next to him, on his back, still breathless. They’re both so sweaty and gross, Walter’s gonna have to wash his sheets after this. Should he wash the stuffed toys too? He might have to do two loads if that’s the case.

He’s just considering asking Lance to get him a towel from the bathroom before everything dries and gets extra gross, when Lance let’s out what sounds suspiciously like a snore.

Walter turns his head, taking in Lance’s closed eyes, slack mouth, the slow rise and fall of his chest. “Seriously?” Walter whispers, with a grin. It’s _Snorgasm: _the Sequel.

He leans in, pressing the lightest kiss to Lance’s shoulder. 

Maybe when he wakes up, they’ll go again. Make it a trilogy.


End file.
